The Sock 'Whisperer'

“Where's my sock, I wondered?” He'd grabbed it before I had noticed it was gone. When I looked down, I knew immediately who'd taken it. He saw me in the corners of his green eyes as he ran to lie down, hoping I would not notice his 'loot'. I smiled again. The Sock Whisperer was at it again.

Mr. Wiggles, our four-year-old yellow retriever, was stealing again. His habit of taking things – gloves, mitts, socks - without permission, was such a quaint hobby of his. Taking Kleenex tissue was another matter, however. We were careful not to leave loose tissue in plain sight. He might want to deconstruct it. 

 

Whenever small clothing product was missing we knew who the culprit was. It was our sweet Mr. Wiggles. He was a nice 'guy' not prone to chewing or destroying these soft treasures. From inside a large bag, he would 'inquire', knowing there were gloves or mitts to be found. Many times, he would remove the gloves of winter to carry to his 'abode' while others would ask him,”Well, where is it?” We knew. He watches us from afar.

Mr. Wiggles lives to carry. Anything that squeaks is O.K., too. He wiggles and carries to the absurd. But he is a gentle sweet guy, not interested in the destruction of his world around him. His playful manner enjoys the world of people and things, creating all the excitement he so enjoys. When winter mitts are worn he looks to see if there is a way to take one or both, then disappear. He waits till no one is watching, then goes 'shopping', with complete abandon. A lie detector would be meaningless. There is no crime, here. Just the scent of the many he loves.

The other day, our wiggler decided to unravel the scarf of our pregnant 'daughter', as she was about to leave. Winter is here, with the accompanying very cold temperatures. She was attempting to pet Sally, his sister. Without missing a beat he began to untangle this long piece of knitted fabric to take as he left the room. “What's the problem?”, he seemed to say, when others noticed his newest attire. He beguiles us with his quirky sense of style. As we noticed this brazen piece of 'artistry' take over his persona, we were all reminded of his gentle, sweet nature. Nothing was ever kept, always in plain sight, as he pondered his next move. Gloves, anyone? When one of a pair was visible on floor or table its mate was always with him. Maybe, he wanted the attention or perhaps our scent nearby. Maybe, he was training to become a sitter for all things in all seasons. Maybe he sensed the fun of it all.

Something happened the other day that made seeing difficult. The sock whisperer had slowed down, his hobby now shelved until he felt better. After a week long visit from Emerson, our newest family member, the hound/beagle pup, a high energy baby brother, in disguise, our wiggler looked different as he lay on the sofa, his head propped up on a pillow. He was so tired, I remarked to my husband. Our wiggler could barely lift his head to look at us, preferring more to keep his eyes shut. But that was odd. He'd never done that before. Then I looked, again, more closely, at our quiet unobtrusive little guy, oh so gentle, never complaining companion. His eyes were shut for a reason. Inflamed, deep pink and droopy, his lens on the world needed a doctor's look.

The quiet little pup was the perfect patient as the doctor's thorough exam would attest. Eye drops would address the inflammation and infection. In the examining room, the first dose began its work. At home, I noticed improvement, immediately. The next step: how many people would it take to put the 4 drops into the eyes of a 73 pound squirmy yellow retriever? There had been three of us at the clinic. At home, I was alone in the wilderness: Mr. Wiggles and I, four times a day, 2 drops per eye, for 7 days, then twice daily. His gentle demeanour has helped greatly as I tell him, each time, what had I had to do. As each drop went in, I remarked that one more needed to be added. Dogs do understand language, I have discovered. Then I moved my hand to his second eye, hoping for understanding in what I had to do. On the sofa, with pillow underneath, Mr. wiggles helped me define our 'special' time and place together.

In the morning, I arrived to a sleepy puppy who realized the ritual had arrived, again, for eye medication, but with a treat. Every companion received one. (I needed all the support I could get). He knew this wasn't so bad, after all.  It would continue for ten days. Healing had begun. Mr. Wiggles had reminded me of a blind dog - but for a minute, in time. We were lucky, 'Cause you never know. The sock whisperer has returned.